Sayaka von Seckondorff: Finding the Path
by ant0nym
Summary: I awoke on the shore of that glimmering sea, as naked as the black sword that lay in the sand at my feet. My first thought, if you'll believe it, was something like: "Huh. I'm not a mermaid anymore?" If anything, things got even stranger from there. T: for violence, possibly mild suggestiveness. Fantasy Universe.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: _In Medias Res_**

We heard a scream, obviously feminine, coming from a tent across the way. Amaya, the exquisite woman sitting across the rough wooden table, met my eyes; the partially-finished cup of the strangely-sweet, thick beverage that we'd shared forgotten in an instant, even though the taste of radish and alcohol would remain with me for the rest of the day.

The slight, pleasant buzzing in my head seemed to wash away as the adrenaline began to flow. That always happens when I hear screaming. In unison, we stood up. I'd known her for less than a day, but something about her wide-eyed waifishness, and that strange, faded appearance of her skin and her hair made her exotically appealing. An air of mystery and the mystical abilities she had occasion to demonstrate added to her mystique. The faded grey eyes narrowed, just as I knew my own had, and we hustled outside upon hearing the unmistakable sound of repeated slapping. Oh hell no, I thought, this was not going to go down on my watch. The barely-intelligible roar from within the tent we approached was harsh and lisping, a combination I had never thought possible.

I saw the carney's wagons lined up along the long wall of ice, hearing the clatter of the Titan's Wheel in the distance. I yanked at the sword hanging from my side, tearing at the intricate web-work of thin cord that bound its hilt to the scabbard. As I felt it come loose in my grasp, it slid out fluidly as we both bent down, pulling up the edge of the tent to duck underneath, drawn by the sound of sobbing and another smack, this time more like a punch.

I didn't bother trying to be quiet; the fifty pounds of metal I wore made that an exercise in futility.

The tent was small compared to the drinking tent, but still stretched fifteen feet across, the ground covered by several layers of rugs. Opposite from us, a massive brute with a hideously ugly, almost greenish face stood over a sobbing figure in a revealing dress. "You'll do what you're paid to! If the man paid for you, you'll go with him!" the man roared, spittle flying from a mouth with a mass of prominent, broken looking teeth. Two jutted out from the guy's lower jaw, looking almost like a small pair of tusks. The vaguely pig-like snout did little to add to his innate charm.

"But... he was so ugly, Kabren," she sobbed desperately, clutching at the man's leg. The glint of bright silvery steel could be seen underneath his leggings and through his shirt. I noted its concealment; most armor was far too bulky to be worn _underneath_ clothing. He looked like he was going to hit her again, so I took a step forward, willing my sword to ignite. I could clearly sense his wickedness, like a mental itch desperate to be scratched, and the fact that he looked so similar to the green skinned, pig-eyed marauders who'd destroyed the Order...

It was around then that he noticed us. It might have had something to do with my suddenly fiery weapon. My grey-clad companion stood by my side, brows furrowed in thought. I spared the woman on the ground a glance, noting the battered face and pitiful eyes. "WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY TENT?!" the creature in front of us roared threateningly, its black eyes bulging from his head.

"Why does your face look like that?" I inquired, putting on the best look of disgust I could muster.

The barrel-chested thug looked confused and angry. "Why does _yours_ look like _that_?" it responded, lamely in my opinion. I couldn't help blowing a raspberry in disappointment.

"You're DEAD, bitches!" he shouted, unslinging a large and wicked-looking axe from over his shoulder. The wretched woman at his feet backed away fearfully on all fours, droplets of blood tracing a pattern across the thick rugs on the floor of the tent.

I heard Amaya utter a brief series of words, then call out "Arise, my minions!" Dozens of spectral creatures, black wraiths of shadow and bone, materialized and flew toward Kabren, our nemesis. I couldn't help grinning as I saw the panic in his porcine eyes; I'd been fooled in the same way, myself.

Striking out wildly, the large warrior's axe clove through the air, failing to find purchase in the illusionary figures. I lept forward, holding my sword in both hands, and brought it down in an overhand chop.

You can slice, and slash, and cut, and dice, and stab, and thrust... but my favorite has always been the chop. It's by far the most effective way to actually dismember something.

I have to pause a moment to talk about my sword. I've been accused of having something of a fixation, both in this world, and in the first. The thing is, when you fight for a living, your weapon is kind of important. I mean, it's basically all that you have to keep death at bay... and dish it out yourself.

When I awoke, this was All I Had. Literally, it was the only thing, I believe, that remains of my... other life. Former life sounds so... I don't know. Dramatic. Anyway, my sword is special. Even the Armsmaster of the Order had agreed with me on that. I was so alone, and so lost, when I got here that, well, it was almost like a friend.

It's not magic or anything; it's just really, really sharp. It's got a strangely-shaped blade, curving forward from the base and fattening out into a broad wedge of metal. You can stab with it, and it makes big holes in things, that's for certain. But mostly, I chop with it. The balance is towards the tip, near the widest part of the blade, and the flat black metal is so hard, so sharp, it can slice through nearly anything. That's not hyperbole; I've felled trees, cut through boulders, and split the swords of a half-dozen fools during the past year... in a single swing. Nothing compares to the look on an attacker's face when he finds himself suddenly holding a mere four inches of blade... except the look when your follow-up slash disembowels him and he glances down in shock, then horror.

It's funny, but I remember it differently. More silvery. But I'm not certain which memories are really real anymore. But, if I'm not slowly losing my mind... why did it change? Why, of everything, is that what remains? I often find myself thinking of the symbolism of silvery white and dead black. And how, before, it curved backwards and slashed, and now curves forward and chops. But I digress.

My blade cut deep into his shoulder, the dull black blade parting the metallic shirt he wore underneath the cloak draped over his shoulders. He gasped then screamed in fury, lashing out wildly. I felt the axe glance off my pauldron, happier than ever to have my beautiful full suit of plate armor. The panicky shout calling for his allies was sweet music to my ears. This new existence was strange, difficult, trying and most especially bizarre, but there were benefits to a less civilized world. The catharsis of combat, for one.

"We're under attack!" I shouted in return, hoping my new companions would recognize my voice. I wasn't concerned about myself; I didn't want them caught with, um, their pants down, as it were. We'd only met recently, and as the men had all decided to go "check out" the peep show, Amaya and I were currently alone. I heard the sound of weapons clashing, screams, and other indications of mayhem erupting. Four glowing bolts erupted from the fingers of the grey-skinned woman who'd remained behind me, hurling across the room to strike the man's chest unerringly.

Staggering back, the massive brute fumbled around his belt, drawing something. I saw him raise the object to his mouth, but lunged forward too late, slicing nothing but air. The moment a small glass vial touched his lips, his body seemed almost to pixelate, bursting into an amorphous cloud, my blade sending ripples though the roiling vapor.

If you know what pixelate means, you undoubtedly come from where I used to. If you don't, I can't think of another word to explain it.

The cloud began to move away, fleeing.

I had one of those feelings I'd been getting, recently. A strange, almost deja-vu sense of familiarity, an understanding of something I had never, to my knowledge, been taught. The potion the guy had swallowed had turned him into this mist. I knew intuitively that, as a magical effect, the mist could still be harmed by the use of magic. I felt my hair stand on end as that old power began building up within, an overwhelming sense of focus and determination taking over as it had in the old days. When the only dangers had been witches... and other girls.

The sapphire gemstone attached to the base of my sword's hilt glinted, reminding me of it's presence, and of a time long past. I drew on some of the power within me, so different but in many ways even more similar to the way things had worked before. The power seemed to flow from my head and legs, concentrating inside my chest before coursing through my upraised arms in a rush of electric force.

The sword, so very, very black, began to glow. I mean, it was already on fire, but the actual sword itself began to radiate a faint light.

I envisioned the violent, electric blue radiance that now encased the blade, not actually seeing the beautiful color through the flickering flames that encased the curved weapon. Bringing my sword down, a part of me couldn't help thinking about how silly it was to swing harder at a cloud, as if somehow the extra force would...

The blade bit, deeply. I felt that satisfying slicing feeling as something, much more solid than the gaseous form appeared to be, parted violently. The cut was almost surgical; I could see the blade cleanly bisect the mass, which was engulfed in a fiery burst of death as the sword unleashed a hellish gout of flame as it imbedded into the mist.

The effect was instantaneous; the cloud began to re-solidify, two halves of the greenish ugly fellow falling to the ground in a splatter of blood and other, less pleasant, internal fluids. The tent was suddenly silent, and we could hear the metal-on-metal sound of a frantic melee coming from the place our companions had entered.

"I guess we're going to the peep show after all," I said fatalistically. The brothels, at least, had been clean-looking. Amaya shrugged.

The cringing woman had gotten up, staring at the remains of her former... something, obviously. "Who was that guy?" I asked her as I made my way to the entry flap, waiting patiently for about three seconds while she flinched and stammered until I asked again, a little less politely. I caught a pair of grey eyes staring at me, but what the hell-we didn't have a lot of time.

"Kabren. Bloodeye, he's called. He _was _called," she amended, a bit wonderingly, slightly awe-struck. I'm a sucker for that sound, and smiled greedily. "He was... our owner. The one who ran us girls."

"Uh-huh," I said noncommittally. I'd later learn that Kabren Bloodeye was a notorious half-orc, a major crime figure in the River Kingdoms known for his humanoid trafficking and vile, murderous ways. Even then, I gave little thought to the repercussions that offhandedly slaying the powerful criminal would eventually have. But that's irrelevant at the moment.

What _is_ relevant is that, within the space of a few breaths, we rejoined the men as they swept the remnant bruisers, appearing to be the same type of creature Kabren Bloodeye had been. They'd begun attacking at the first shout from their boss. Scantily clad, or partly bare, women huddled, shook, curled-up or cowered throughout the room. My heightened powers of intuition told me they were upset.

I'll briefly describe the companions I've mentioned, as I remember them at that moment. Tad, a human man, the hunter and ranger of the wilds, laying another half-orc to eternal rest with an immense, double-handed sword, a longbow strapped across the fur cloak over his back, the precious few arrows I'd given him huddled together in the nearly empty quiver. A strange predatory animal, I couldn't decide if it looked feline or wolfish, yipped excitedly at his heels.

Glinting steel from across the room as, somersaulting, a figure darted behind one of the remaining warriors, neatly hamstringing the green-skinned thug before planting a pair of daggers in its back as it fell prone, the scream cutting off abruptly in a spray of gore. Another human, Taj always, always made me want to follow his name with the word "Mahal," but he didn't get the reference, and neither would you I suppose.

Malgos was like me; neither one nor the other. I used to wonder why I was like this. It was almost funny; aside from the ears, I was essentially the same, even the hair. Especially the hair. But those ear's had gotten me all kinds of grief, from people who were all to quick to judge physical traits... but that's an observation for another time. Malgos slashed his way across the room, moving elegantly and assuredly through the pools of blood and viscera that had collected upon the rugs that, again, covered the ground of the tent. His weapon, amazingly, was of a same hue as my own, although I have no evidence he's from anywhere other than here. By which I mean Golarion. The familiar long, elegant curve of the two handed blade hearkened back to home, my first home, and the rich tradition of sword-worship that seems to have infected me.

Finishing off the remaining enemy warrior by crushing its sloping, thick-browed forehead with a large warhammer, I couldn't help but half-smile at the sight of the short, stocky and most of all bearded man who made up the final member of this new group I'd come to associate with. Barely up to my chest, Lodrin was easily twice as wide, even with me in my armor. His beard was bristly, as were his eyebrows, and he was, of all things, a priest. An honest-to-god _dwarf_, that honestly believed in god.

God. I know, right? At first, I was like, sorry, but that stuff is totally fake. As insane as it sounds, things are... different, here. There's no God that I've found, but there are _gods_. Back there, I can remember... I can hear the pleading, that desperate prayer as she tried to do what no one else would. Tried so hard, so selflessly. And, damn it all, I failed you...

*Swallow* Enough about that. No regrets, it doesn't do any good. But I'll use this chance to make a difference. That's what this slaughter was all about; doing the right thing.

We'd come here, the six of us, to the newly established nation of Arcadia. We'd come for Knallhart. I didn't know any of the others' motivations by this point, but one thing was for certain. I'd traveled across what had seemed like half a continent, enduring hardships I'd never had the imagination to even conceive of before, in my old life.

And I'd done it to meet the man of my dreams.

"Thank you, thank you for saving us!" the woman whose scream had precipitated the bloody last few minutes embraced me, her arms skidding across the gleaming armor across my chest and shoulders. I didn't push her away. She was rather attractive, except for her swollen lip. I noticed the others staring at me. "Uh," I began, buying time. "You need to get out of here. Take everyone with you, you're free now." I'd always wanted to say that.

"But... where should we go?" the harlot asked, looking frightened and miserable at the prospect of imminent homelessness.

I considered. "Go into town, inform them of what has happened here. They'll be able to help you." I wasn't positive about this, but recalled the large red-light district that had dominated the middle of Callisto, the capitol of Arcadia. They would probably be willing to take in some, ah, new talent.

Taj was the first to speak once the women began gathering their things and getting ready to leave, a furtive look in his shifty eyes. "We need to get out of here." There were murmurs of agreement. "The guards will be coming, and I don't want to get tied down to a bunch of dead bodies."

I hesitated. After all, I'd come here, essentially, to join up. It would hardly impress the Autarch if we appeared to be little more than murderous fugitives. We'd heard of the tight controls that Arcadia placed over the, um, oldest profession, despite only having spent a few hours within the capitol city, Callisto. They seemed exceptionally proud of their regulation of that particular market. "I think we could make a pretty good case for ourselves," I mused, pausing as I looted the corpse of the crime lord we'd killed. Someone whistled as I stripped the ultra-fine mesh of chain links from the torso, a rippling and shimmering cascade of silvery metal that weighted next to nothing. I _think_ they were appreciating the armor, not the cut-apart dead body, but these guys can be hard to read. "This was obviously an illegal operation, and it might be a good way to get introduced to Knallhart..." I stopped, seeing the look of frank disbelief in the eyes of the humans in particular. "Or not." I tossed the armor and the large, wicked-looking axe to Amaya, who slipped them into her backpack.

I'll tell you about that backpack, sometime. It also contained a dozen cherry pies, a huge jug of spirits, which is what people call liquor here, and a sickening monstrosity contained within a large glass container, a disgusting looking fetus that appeared to move on its own accord, and which I was disturbed to discover radiated a palpable aura of evil. And six creepy-looking, apparently hand-made dolls that we'd recently won with the help of Girl Power.

I can tell you about that, too, sometime. If you want.

Things took another turn towards interesting when I noticed a figure climb out from hiding behind the large, now deserted, ale tent. I blinked, knowing the pair of goat legs that the creature pranced upon were not a fiction of my imagination. Unless, of course, all of this is just some wild coma dream and I'm lying in a hospital bed somewhere, victim of a hit and run or something.

The creature approached us, human from the waist up. Quite well-muscled, in fact. Sculpted. Two small horns poked up from it's thick, curly hair. "Great heroes," it began sycophantically, and I could see it work on my new acquaintances. Hell, it worked on me, too. "I am Falcos, and bear a message to you from a friend of Knallhart. I beg you, accompany me with all speed, my mistress must speak with you at once." It's eyes were pleading.

I was fairly certain the mistress he spoke of wasn't the kind you'd find in a brothel.

We shared some significant glances and and a couple resigned shrugs. It's not like we had anything else planned.

* * *

**May be confusing. If so, it should become a little more clear shortly.**

**Thank you for reading. Please leave whatever feedback you feel appropriate, and let me know how to make it better or what you'd like seen done differently, or what works. Pretty please, with sugar on top. Questions, unclear aspects and noticed inconsistencies are very welcome.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: _Setting a Stage_**

Some people don't agree, but I think stories truly begin at first blood. Or at least, I guess, stories that have blood in them.

I realize that, in my haste to get to the good stuff, I've skipped over some important details about my... situation. I've never been much of a story teller; instead I like to point out things that are wrong or unfair or just plain stupid, and try to see the ironic humor in the situations that don't drive me into an outraged frenzy.

Some people find that annoying.

I don't really care.

I've changed. I can feel it. I mean, I'm still me, but... begin a... mermaid, that was, like, really hard to describe. Back home, way back whenever, I could be abrasive, but deep down I craved a sense of acceptance. Of belonging. If that curly haired blonde hadn't kicked the bucket, things might have played out differently. I'd thought about that, a lot, during my purgatory in the wilderness. Maddeningly, I couldn't quite remember her name, but... she'd been something special. Yet another failure. She'd been the first girl I'd really-

Let me go back, quick. To the beginning. Not the very beginning, when I woke up, and definitely not before that. The beginning of the day I was telling you about. The day of the Dark Carnival.

I woke up on the road. Well, really I was a few yards off of the wide path of dirt and crushed rock I'd been traveling west along for the previous few days. Stifling a groan, since I could detect the presence of others around me, I sat up. After so many repetitions of this abrupt waking realization, I was no longer alarmed. The soft sounds of sleeping and the muted crackle of the low fire were comforting.

Before this begins sounding overly romantic, let me be clear. Traveling on the dirt paths that connected each small bastion of civilization to another, surrounded by the ever-present dangers of bandits and deadly beasts and evil fey creatures with sadistic dispositions and sharp claws and shiny teeth... it's not all that enjoyable. Despite the occasional fight for your life, it's mostly a long, boring, plodding and jarringly bumpy journey. If you're lucky enough to have a horse, that is.

Traveling a couple hundred miles on foot is an entirely different story. Much, much worse.

The _very_ worst thing, however, is the sad truth that, once outside of a town, you will never, ever encounter a bathroom. Never. It's not so bad when there are trees around; you can hide behind them, and of course the whole convenience of leaves. But imagine, a well traveled road on a flat, grassy plain. You can be a hundred yards from the path and still have no sense of privacy. Or dignity. When you crouch a certain way... it's impossible to mistake. It's a good thing I have this cape. As long as I'm careful...

Gritting my teeth, I eased out from underneath my blanket, carefully untwisting the light shirt of interlocking links of chain I'd slept in, feeling it sharply pinch my abdomen as I shifted. It wasn't the most comfortable sleep-wear, and at night without a bedroll it could get really uncomfortable when it got cold. The thing is, sleeping in a bulky suit of metal armor half as massive as you are, well, it doesn't provide the body with much rest.

But you also don't want to wake up in the middle of the night with an owlbear approaching while you're wearing nothing more substantial than cloth. And when things go sideways, you never, ever seem to have the required two and a half minutes to get your gear correctly placed and strapped tight.

What's an owlbear? One of the apex predators that roam the wilderness of this part of the world. Use your imagination. It looks just like it sounds, as long as you aren't imagining wings. It was one of the reasons that Malgos was awake, staring out into the night. The half-elf had already donned the heavy plate armor so similar to my own; last watch was nice because when you finished you were ready to start the day. That armor had been the reason I'd stopped, the night before. Not one, but two fully armored men camped out alongside the road. It was a sight I'd never seen, and when one of them had turned out to be so short and stocky, my curiosity had been piqued. The woman sitting by the fire, strangely exotic features lit hauntingly from below, sent a shiver down my spine. Even in the orange glow of the flames, her pallor was almost ghostly.

Malgos turned, the long black hair streaked with white tied behind his head in the elvish fashion to expose his slightly pointed ears. The eerie, stark white eyes seemed to stare blindly, but he could see as well as anyone. He'd mentioned it in passing, something about a family curse resulting from, in his words, "an indiscretion." Magic was capable of doing some crazy, messed up things, and this place was absolutely overflowing with it. I gave a tired wave as I left the camp, huddled in my cloak against the early morning chill, thinking about the mission I'd been given, and the ways in which one confronts impossible tasks.

At least there'd been no frost.

I find myself less of a people person than ever. That being said, it doesn't matter how much of a badass you are; if something catches you sleeping, you're in all sorts of hurt. That's why it had felt so comforting when I'd woken up to the sound of life.

So anyway, I got back to camp fifteen minutes later, having finished with my morning business and worked the kinks out of my aching neck. I'd spend, easily, months worth of nights sleeping along roads. Or worse, within wilderness. A few of the others had begun stirring, so I took that as permission to begin putting on my armor. It was relaxing, a morning ritual that helped me clear my mind. The gleaming, intricately etched metal shone as the sun crested the horizon, the pieces clanging hollowly as they fit together seamlessly. Taking the pieces out of the oiled cloth I'd wrapped them in, I put on the underarmor, a tough but supple outfit of boiled leather and thick links of woven chain, with a steel plate or two sewn in for good measure in important areas, like, say, the groin.

First I slipped into my metal-reinforced boots that were actually amazingly comfortable. If you had the gold, there were some astonishing things this world had to offer, and comfortable boots had been the priority after my month of suffering in the wilderness. The greaves came next, strapping around my legs, some extra padding along the interior helping prevent any excessive wear from riding my warhorse. This actually consisted of the greaves, the poleynus and the cuisses, each a seperate series of plates protecting the calf, knee and thigh respectively. The thing is, most people don't really care about each and every piece of the armor, I've found, so I'll abbreviate as best I can. Its like when someone talks about all the individual notes and chords and stanzas and movements within a song. It's beautiful because its a song, not because you can dissect it down to each little detail. That's just being obnoxious.

You put the leg stuff on first, because once you belt down the breast plate and back plate, which are exactly what they sound like, you're mobility is constricted. My suit was personally crafted by an admittedly self-proclaimed master smith of a knightly Order, and later enchanted with protective magics that made it even less restrictive, but I still can't touch my toes. Or hop over a five foot wall, at least not without a running start. And just as you'd expect, fifty pounds of leather and steel slow you down a bit, but that's why there's magic.

I know what you're thinking. Breast plate. No, it does not have armored boobs sticking out of the front. For one thing, that looks ridiculous. For another, the whole point of plate armor is to deflect a strike; things that catch a blade will instead channel that force. Not what I'd want having happen to the center of _my_ chest. Finally, there's not really a good reason to go around announcing your a woman alone on the road; it's bad enough being so short. It tends to make foolish people bold, and result in trouble more often than not. It's a little squished in here, but what can you do? The first time you see a man take an arrow through the gut and fall down screaming, you remember all the clinks and clangs of that shit hitting you but barely being noticeable in the fight, and you realize how awesome armor is.

Finally I put on the vambrace and the rerebrace, covering my lower and upper arms, tying down these little things that were basically shields under the armpit, an otherwise potentially vulnerable area. The gauntlets were hooked to my belt for the moment, since I'd be needing to pack my gear and get on my horse.

Once my armor was in place, I picked up my sashimono, the pole that attached to my back and from which hung my banner. Knights were expected to represent, even if the rest of the Order had been destroyed. That way, the bad guys would have an easier time deciding to come after me. Or at least, I think that's the theory. It seemed to work for me.

Can you guess my sigil? That's like a coat of arms, but simpler and more individual. I picked it ironically, and since a geometric shape had been substantially cheaper to sew than another, more complex graphic like an animal. The symbol's color should be obvious, but it was the background I'd struggled with the longest.

Another fifteen minutes found the sun risen just above the horizon, right in our faces. I slid the visor down on my helmet, squinting in the distance as I chewed the last of my bacon. My horse cantered along as we headed east, our destination within reach.

Two things about horses, quick. Then we'll get to town, I promise. First thing: my horse had no name. I had given it one, originally. Flametail. I had been feeling morose, and thought the fiery tempered battle mount had reminded me of someone special, from a... different time. The name had felt right. I took to talking to her, sharing secrets and hopes and dreams and regrets along the long, lonely roads for weeks, before, um, someone pointed out to me that Flametail was a stallion, amazed that I'd overlooked the rather obvious signs.

What can I say? Horses aren't my thing. But they sure as hell beat walking.

Second thing: if you ever have a chance to watch a dwarf mount a horse, you will not regret doing so.

I'd been passing through farmland for days, the residents of the fertile plains of this area already hard at work as the beginning of spring brought preparation for the upcoming year to a feverish pitch. I was never sure exactly what they were doing out there, mucking around and bending over and swinging their poles and stuff, but I had sense enough to realize whatever they did allowed me to eat. Hunting was time consuming and often fruitless. Unlike berry-picking, which could be quite... fruitful.

As we approached the city, Callisto, capitol of Arcadia, the traffic along the road increased substantially. Which meant instead of a dozen people visible ahead or behind us, there was somewhere between fifty and eighty, clustering up around the entrance to the city. We had to wait in line as a group of guards admitted people into the town. There weren't walls or anything, just what looked to be a moderate sized river on the opposite side of the city. I had the impression, however, that if we were to waltz on in, those armored guards would probably take umbrage with us. That's a fancy way of saying they'd be pissed. My time with those crusty old knights gave me something of a passion for crusty old words. Forsooth!

So, we waited in line, Amaya looking around with her wide, inquisitive eyes while Taj rolled a coin through his fingers in boredom. It didn't take all that long, and as we got near the entrance, I saw what was happening. Most people, farmers and wagon-drivers and folk like that were given a once over and then waved in. Anyone with a weapon, however, was taken off to the side. Uh-oh, I thought to myself. Some places were strict about deadly weaponry, or armor that made it difficult if not impossible for the local guardian caste to enforce the law.

This country, supposedly, was different. But I'd seen a lot of messed up places in the past year, and was wary of any form of power structure until I had a good feel for what they were about. There had been this one country, Galt, that had been swept up in a bloody civil war for over a generation, one group rising to power and trying to eradicate their enemies before being pulled down by the mob, let by a new group of raving maniacs in a perpetual cycle of death and destruction. This other guy had an entire nation convinced he was a god. A _god_. And they believed him. He even had his own priests!

My worries were mostly unjustified. As we were led to the side by several guards, one apiece, we were checked politely but firmly for weapons. We got a brief rundown of the rules of the town; don't kill anyone, don't steal, don't be an asshole. Pretty self explanatory, even if the last one was worryingly vague. The guards offered to store our weapons, which we had handed to them: my strange looking chopping sword, the flamboyant Taj's daggers, or at least the ones he had chosen to reveal, the armored hulk Malgos's enormous, curved no-dachi and a short stabbing sword that normally hung at his side. Lodrin's warhammer and the fur-clad Tad's longbow and greatsword were taken as well. Of us all, only Amaya had nothing to turn over. At the offer, as one, we became alarmed and vehemently declined taking them up on their offer. The one who held my blade nodded knowingly.

What they did instead was interesting. We got to keep our stuff, but before we got the weapons back, they took out this spools of thin wire, wrapping the hilt to the scabbard a few dozen times in a complex, interweaving pattern. It went surprisingly quickly, and looked quite pretty, actually. A cowled man stepped forward, touching each of the wrappings in the middle, where the crossing strands met, and a tiny glyph appeared. I gasped, the sight of the shimmering blue rune unleashing a flood of memories. Twisting bulbous sigils that danced madly in the chaos of the labyrinth, slashing my way through before confronting the winged box with the strange moving pictures, trying so hard to save... something. Someone.

I noticed one of the guards looking at me, and worked at regaining my composure. The flash had been so vivid; surreal but at the same time as detailed as what I was experiencing at the moment. I shook my head, took my sword and headed into town.

The place was obviously still a work in progress. Looking around, empty lots and partially constructed buildings dotted the area, but other structures could be seen, clean and new and for all I could tell, well built. Immediately before us was a huge complex including a large building, several barns, a giant corral, and various stables and outbuildings. Cattle, horses and some other domesticated creatures could be seen milling within.

We'd entered from the north, and heading south past the animals, my eyes were drawn to an eerie cemetery that lay further along the edge of town. There was something creepily familiar about the feeling it gave me. Glancing away, I could see what appeared to be a large, multistory mansion adjacent to the graveyard, and beyond the two the edifice of an immense estate rose into the air, a high stone wall surrounding the huge, winged structure that loomed a few blocks away.

Winged in the sense that, there was a big main building, with two additional buildings jutting out from the main. Not that it actually possessed wings, and potentially the capability for flight. Not an entirely ridiculously idea, given some of the sights I've seen during the past year. I know for a fact that there's a hut that walks around on gigantic chicken legs, somewhere far to the north.

We turned left, heading deeper into the town. An immense black basalt tower stood watch, its iron-barred windows ensuring everyone knew they looked upon a prison. "What do you think of that?" Tad asked, sounding a little nervous to my keen and discerning ears. His animal was glued to his leg, its strange head darting around anxiously as people passed us with interested expressions and outright curiosity. Except for the ones who looked sad, or were flat out sobbing as they walked.

"It's too early to tell," said Lodrin gruffly.

"Nothing wrong with a little law and order, is there?" I asked. I mean, why were they getting freaked out about a mean looking jail?

"This is an autarchy, remember." That was Malgos's contribution. "Frontier justice can be tough on the stomach. Even worse on the neck," he added grimly, unconsciously checking to make sure the hilt of the big sword over his shoulder was sitting just so.

"There's practically nobody in there," I mentioned casually. The place looked like it could fit a couple hundred, possibly more depending on what was below ground. I could feel exactly one person who made my danger sense tingle. The others gave me strange looks, from quizzical to disbelieving.

"How can you possibly know that?" asked Taj, his oily smile forgotten. The group waited for me to answer as we continued to ride through the city street, neighborhoods of relatively clean and safe-looking houses on our left.

I debated lying, but knew I wasn't particularly good at it. "I just, ah, know." That didn't work. "I can sense it. We passed close by, where I would have sort of felt if there'd been any, um, dangerous people inside." This was perhaps the most outrageous of my new abilities. The concept of being able to detect the presence of evil, a relatively subjective concept to begin with... but a god had told me it was true, and if you can't believe a god, you may as well just give up right now, right?

A part of me wondered if I'd been a little too quick to believe him. The feeling of certainty was so liberating.

The humans were the ones who reacted first, even Taj's attempt to mask his sudden unease failing. The non-humans were stoic, confident in the purity of their intrinsic motivations. It was fascinating to see.

Of course they'd all passed the test, or scan, or whatever you want to call it. If I could trust my intuition, I knew none of them were wicked or evil. At least, not mostly evil or wicked. I couldn't exactly tell how it worked. None of them were exactly hero material, no questing paladin bleeding righteousness and seeking to fight against the eternal darkness with his last breath. I'd actually had the mixed pleasure of meeting a few of those types heading up to that great meat grinder far to the north.

"You can't... tell what we're thinking, can you?" Tad asked hesitantly. The others began to look a little more concerned.

"No. I mean, I _could_, but I won't," I lied, just to keep them honest. I had my suspicions about the humans, and the ephemeral shadow-land lady was too quiet for me to really trust yet. "It's just a feeling I get, like having an itch." I didn't mention how many times that sense had saved my ass from some hidden menace.

They kept glancing at me as we walked, passing by an immaculate garden, complete with a small pond and mossy stones, that lay behind a tall iron fence that separated the street from a large, elegant-looking building. A hotel or something? The stone shingles were colored, and the walls were painted with a subtle but brilliant rose.

Two immense stone structures stood before us to the left, adjacent to the wide, placid river that ran parallel to us a block ahead. The industrial looking buildings billowed steam, and the clang of metal could be heard as the wind changed, and suddenly the smell of smoke and molten metal wafted across the street. To the right of those lay a pair of large, wooden buildings, stacks upon stacks of barrels laid out in its yard. Looking further to the right, there was what looked to be a small campus; large, academic buildings sharing space with functional-looking dormitories. Beyond that, a small crowd milled, the first gathering of people we'd seen.

I wanted to go see what was going on. I turned to the others, just as Lodrin exclaimed, "Will you look at those barrels? That's a brewery, or I'm an elf!" He began hustling towards the pair of buildings set up across an empty lot, his short legs moving him across the distant with surprising spryness. The others followed the stout figure eagerly, except for Amaya, who merely shrugged and trailed behind.

The man in the shop who sold us drinks told us why the town seemed so deserted; apparently there was a carnival in town. He made some wild guesses about the nature of its attractions with Taj, who seemed to know something about the business. I tried to be patient, but couldn't help thinking about more pressing matters.

That's when we heard about the attack, a bunch of citizens slain at the hands of some ten foot tall evil demon woman who apparently shot arrows and lightning bolts out of her eyes, from the back of her monstrous owlbear no less. See! I told you they were a danger around here. Supposedly, this particular one had been as large as a two story building... but people tend to exaggerate when remembering stressful situations. In their defense, though, it had torn down the enormous theater that had sat adjacent to the college I'd seen to the south, wounding both patrons and national pride in the process.

Knallhart was gone, off to try and take care of that menace. According to the brewer, or vintner, or distiller, or whatever the guy in the shop who sold the guys liquor was, they'd been out on some kind of rescue mission to find, of all things, a child who'd gone missing. Oh man, my heart just about melted there. The leaders of this place went out to help some little kid! I was more hopeful than ever that this place would finally be the spot where I found out where I fit in.

I was getting so tired of wandering. And worse, that sense of purposelessness that had crept over me during my trek north.

Knallhart. It's a group of people, or an elite organization, take your pick. I guess you could call them a bunch of adventurers, but such a thing would never be said in polite company. They're the one's who established this small, insignificant realm surrounded by barbarians to the west, a brewing civil war to the north, the chaotic River Kingdoms to the south, and nothing but mountains to the east.

But it had potential. A vision, if that wasn't stating it with too much grandiloquence. That, and the Autarch was someone I felt, literally, compelled to meet.

Stupid god dreams.

We sipped a surprisingly refreshing beverage made from, among other things, sweet, sweet honey. Well, some of us sipped, the others gulped. Talk turned to what we should do next.

"There's the brothels," remarked Tad. His little beast had been tethered up outside, along with our horses. They'd been too large to fit through the door.

"That carnival sounds fun," proposed Amaya. I could tell she felt strong about it because she had talked.

I couldn't help thinking their priorities were out of place; I was here to try to impress the leader of a nation, not get off... track, going to some traveling freak show. "Don't you think we should, maybe, explore this town a little? Get to know where we are hoping to live? The lay of the land, and all that. There was that cemetery, and I'd like to get a look at that walled compound, and..." I broke off, seeing the glazed look in my companions' eyes.

"Plenty of time for that later. I want to go check out the carnival, too," muttered Taj, nodding to himself and playing with an unsheathed dagger, blatantly flouting the whole no-weapon-drawing rule we'd been told. I punched his arm, a little harder than I intended, forgetting just how strong I was in this body. The others reached a consensus and, a little grumpily, I followed them back out of town, heading around a hill to the spectacle that awaited beyond.

*Yawn* I know! Hooray for me, I woke up and walked to a town. And I didn't even have to do the walking! This is truly the stuff epic adventures are made of. Next time there will be freaks and monsters and displays of prowess and strength and best of all Girl Power. I promise.

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